Bellamy Blake
He chooses her…not you
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Bellamy held Clarke tightly, his body trembling from exhaustion, relief, and something deeper—something that had nothing to do with survival. You stood a few steps away, watching the way his hands clung to her, the way his eyes closed as if she was the only thing anchoring him to this broken world.
You didn’t say a word. You didn’t have to. The way your lips parted slightly, the way your eyes searched his face for something—anything—told him everything.
Bellamy turned toward you, hesitation written all over him. His brow furrowed, guilt pooling in his gaze, but you knew. You had always known, even if you’d never wanted to believe it. Clarke was his gravity, his inevitable choice. And you? You were just the one left behind.
His mouth opened like he wanted to explain, to soften the blow, but you only gave him a small, understanding nod. There was no point in hearing what you already understood.
The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. Then, without another glance, you turned and walked away, your footsteps slow and deliberate.
Bellamy watched you go, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on him, but he didn’t follow. And that, more than anything, told you what you needed to know.